


reached so far (inside my heart)

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Director Daisy, Drinking, Eating, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Fantasizing, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Male-Female Friendship, Sex, Undressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 04:12:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13403220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: He’s Agent to her Director.





	1. right here

It always just kind of...happened.

Making the first move was her way of asserting herself, of being available, instead of hiding behind a few jokes or banter.

Never letting things get too real, too serious, because you never know when they might find out that things will always go wrong.

It never lasted, never worked. The wrong kind of guy attracted to her. Or someone she couldn’t or wouldn’t change for. The feeling that she could’ve tried harder.

It was so much work. Exhausting.

Now, it’s easier, and not something she thinks about too often, because things are too frantic these days. It’s all work. Too official and too busy, but good work.

All Ms. Official Business, that’s her.

Coulson, though, really has no excuse. He’s just Agent to her Director now, and instead of being out in the real world, like he could, he’s in her office.

With sandwiches.

“Didn’t I take this job so you could take a break from this job?”

Coulson is nice and he deserves something nice. He’s kind and generous, with pretty good taste (and of course there’s Lola). Who wouldn’t be impressed?

He holds the plate in his hand and looks down at her seated behind the desk, appraising him. Nope, Coulson isn’t hard on the eyes at all.

“It’s Brie, with walnuts and arugula,” he says like it’s a field report. “On a fresh baguette.”

“Fancy,” she says with a smile, sitting up straighter and locking her fingers together under her chin.

A glance at the window tells her it’s later than she realized, and still cold out.  She is hungry, her stomach reminds her.

“French,” he replies. “I had a sandwich like this in Paris, once. So, I learned how to make it.”

“Sounds like a story there,” she says with interest, taking half of it off the plate.

She takes a bite and tastes the warm, sweet honey inside and catches it in her mouth just before it drips off her fingers.

“I wish,” he shrugs, watching. “It was pretty boring. I sat in a van as back up. Russian survellilance. They never needed me.” He leans forward with a napkin that was tucked into his pocket.

“Ah, the early days?” she asks, licking her fingers instead, as she’s picturing young Phil crammed into a van with some lo-fi equipment and a sandwich, getting honey on everything.

“Uh, yeah,” he agrees, setting the napkin on the desk beside her, propping himself on the surface at the edge.

“You eat yet?” she asks while he watches her in silence, getting honey on everything.

“You don’t like it?”

“No, it’s great,” she smiles. “You just looked...hungry.” He shrugs and takes the other half from the plate as she offers it to him. “Too bad we don’t have some wine.”

“I might know where to scare some up,” he says, mouth a little full from that first bite, hopping off the desk.

“Don’t go to too much trouble,” she says, as he waves her off and leaves back through the door.

She finds herself thinking about it, then. How it’s not work, and why it’s so different with Coulson. Without the anxiety and pressure.

It won’t last, she knows. He said he’d just show her the ropes during the transition and then he probably has some grand plans to do something really dorky.

But right now, he comes back with a bottle and a couple of glasses.


	2. in front

“So what after all of this?” glass No. 2 asks for her.

“What after what?” he replies, stretching his arm along the back of the office couch. He has his sleeves pushed up now and he looks relaxed and his tie is loose.

It’s kind of funny how Coulson insisted on his suits again once she officially took the role of Director, but he does attend meetings at her request.

“When the transition is over. You can take a break, go on a vacation,” she goes on curling up on her end and kicking off her shoes.

“Trying to get rid of me?” he jokes, but she can see the way his eyebrows are knotting together.

“Never,” she says defiantly, then looks away when his eyes shine back at her. “Where would you want to go? Paris?” She only thinks to mention it because he brought it up earlier.

Someone like Coulson who is so romantic and sentimental must’ve done more than eat sandwiches in a van.

He stares down at his almost empty wine glass and twists the stem between his fingers. 

“By myself?” he says reluctantly, like it seems like a terrible idea.

“What would you do, if you went with someone?” she asks, leaning forward to get the bottle off the floor and pour him a bit more.

“Thanks. Film. Dinner. Evening walk in the park?” he says like he’s not putting too much thought into it.

“Sure,” she teases. “I mean, you’ve been to outer space, so, dinner and a movie sounds-“

“Please, tell me how my Parisian date should go,” he smirks, finishing off his glass and setting it on the floor next to the bottle.

“I didn’t mean-“

“No,” he goes on, propping his elbow on the back of the couch. “I want to hear.”

The thing is, it’s not hard to imagine. She knows things about him she never thought she would know, but she also knows about his music and the secret ingredient to his mother’s grilled cheese sandwich, and where he places value.

“A bookstore. Stuff about history or, poetry?” He seems very pleased at the idea, so she goes on. “And you pick out a book to read together later, something old, at a...garden apartment with lots of windows, but still hidden. Of course, the chocolate croissants-”

“What about them?” he grins, running his fingers across the leather upholstery.

“They’re everywhere,” she rolls her eyes at him. “And music. Jazz. Drifting in the breeze?”

“It sounds nice,” he says dreamily, like maybe the wine is starting to get to him. “You seem to know exactly what I want.”

“Oh, and a ride in Lola over the city,” she adds. “All the lights below? Nice.”

“If it’s someone really special, they can drive,” he says, as she frowns at the idea. “Sometimes it’s nice to just get to enjoy the view.”

The flush in her cheeks isn’t only from the wine, when she finds him still smiling at her, and she holds his eyes, just to be sure.

He doesn’t look away, just raises his eyebrows slowly, like he realizes there is something there that wasn’t a moment ago.

It seems like the simplest thing in the world, and it’s been right in front of her this whole time, she just didn’t think he’d-

“I want to kiss you. Is that okay?” 

For some reason asking him seems bolder than just making the first move, but then his hand is touching her cheek and he’s kissing her first. Just once, softly, pulling back for a moment.


	3. of you

“An apartment with lots of flowers, in the spring,” he tells her, against her ear. “Blooming. All the windows open.”

She’s always appreciated his imagination, the way he wants to share in a vision, something better.

It’s so easy how quickly she’s able to insert herself into the fantasy she’s constructed for him. To imagine the warm sunlight behind her eyelids instead of the office lights.

“We’d never leave,” she smiles, as his mouth moves along her neck. “Order food up,” she adds, putting her fingers on the buttons of his shirt.

“Stay in bed all day?”

He stops and she nods at him, and slips his hands along her suiting, helping her take off the jacket as she sits back onto his lap then takes apart his buttons, unknots his tie, working around his fingers tracing underneath the strap of her bra.

She reminds herself that the office door is locked, then slips her hand inside of his shirt, her fingers tracing the outline of the scar on his exposed chest.

It’s so much skin that she’s never touched or seen, but she loves it. She loves him, and marvels that it’s sudden and so uncomplicated at the same time.

“Not my best feature,” he starts to joke, but she quiets him with a kiss taking his face in her hands and sliding fingers along his jaw, down his neck, back to the scar, and his tongue teases against her lips again and she parts them.

They seem more than kisses now, this kind of intense wanting, tangled with deeper feelings. More than what this couch and this office can offer right now. It feels too small.

”Do you want to come to my room, Coul-“

”Phil,” he asks her. 

“Phil,” she corrects, with a raise of an eyebrow.

”You want to move this to your room?” he replies, sighing when she shifts her weight on top of him.

”I mean sex, Phil.”

The color starts to rise in his face, but his eyes are shining back at her, his smile starting to widen, as she lowers her hand and pulls him up by his belt buckle as she stands.

She bends to pick up her jacket and shoes and then looks over her shoulder at him as he wraps his tie around his fingers and follows after her, turning off the office lights behind them.

Inside the Director’s quarters, she goes to hang up her jacket and takes off the jewelry she’s wearing.

He knows his way around. This used to be his room. It almost feels like they were sharing, even when she first moved in.

His closet where she sets her shoes, his dresser, with the neat compartments inside. His hands on her hips, hands helping her undress. His mouth, opening hers as she turns to pull him full against her.

It goes faster and freer now, his belt and his fine wool dress pants just in the way. All of these layers of things they have been and are supposed to be falling away.

He sits on the edge of the bed as he takes the last layer between them, and runs his hands along her sides, then closes his eyes and presses his lips to her stomach.

The cold winter light makes stripes across his shoulders from the window, as her fingers curl in his hair, tighten as his mouth moves lower.

He stops when she gasps, and lifts his eyes to hers, waits until she strokes his hair again before he continues, his tongue moving faster.

After she comes, that first quick and shallow orgasm, she lowers his shoulders to the bed and then reaches towards the nightstand and opens the top drawer.

”Good idea,” he says, when she drops the condom wrapper on his stomach.

”Do you want me to do the honors?”

”Yeah,” he says, excitement dancing in his voice.

She takes him in her hand, and watches. The way his mouth changes shape, when she runs her thumbnail along the length. How his hips arch up when she twists her wrist.

The thing she remembers most clearly is the tone in his voice when he answered her.

”On top.”

The way he laces her fingers in his when she moves over him. Kissing her through her veil of hair.

They both come this time.

It’s not complicated at all.


End file.
